Lucid Dreamer
by Not Human
Summary: Dr. Crane, Jonathan Crane. His new patient, seventeen year old Jane, is in a place she doesn't belong...Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane. A tale of life under the microscope of madness, as seen from the inside. My first fan fic. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

Lucid Dreamer

_Welcome to my nightmare._

The sounds of her new world filled her white room. Squealing trolley wheels, uncontrolled shouting…and the occasional scream with a _controlled _quality as well. These screams were most familiar; they belied a fear that was in fact becoming so familiar it was in danger of being labeled a comfort. Arkham's music; in this chaos, Jane was now home.

The hour was early. She would figure she had at least fifteen minutes before the burly nurses came to harass her out of sleep, prod her and ask her ridiculous questions to see if they should sedate her again. Fifteen minutes of relative privacy; her room was what could be considered private, if one had forgotten what the outside world was like. A bedroom without a camera mounted in the ceiling, and maybe a door that locked from the inside instead of out. Jane, at seventeen, had only spent a week in this confinement. Humans, though, can adapt to anything, and already Arkham had become home.

Jane rose, mindful of the camera but knowing she was unable to do anything about it. She'd been up early before; once or twice they'd come in to take her out of her room then, but for the most part it seemed that the staff couldn't be bothered to go on duty before the morning (day) shift started. Hopefully they'd let her have time to herself this morning.

Quietly, she padded over in slipper-clad feet to the door. Her room had no windows; this, she'd reckon, was what she got for biting. Her faint reflection in the wire-protected glass of the door showed the effects of imprisonment over time; a sallow quality to her once tanned skin, dark circles under her gray eyes. Her dark blond hair matted, for lack of good shampoo. She chuckled to herself dryly. No day spa, this.

There was, truly, not much to occupy a teenager here. For the last seven days (or eight? She feared she'd lost track of time for lack of a watch), she'd spent her hours wandering around the common room, always moving to avoid being harassed by one of those 'crazies'. She'd happened to catch her doctor, of all people, calling her new peers by that title. At her hearing, she'd hoped she'd be ruled too young to be committed into the general population of a maximum-security asylum, but apparently the law carries a different meaning in Gotham City than it does in the rest of the country. So now she found herself among the criminally insane, treated by a man whose own sanity seemed to be in question.

Dr. Crane, Jonathan Crane. He'd seemed only a few years older than herself, until he'd opened his mouth and all those coldly regulated words had come out. He'd met her before her trial, for a psychological evaluation. Her court-appointed lawyer had been confident of a temporary insanity plea, with some kind of self-defense bell tacked on for good measure. Jane didn't see what the big deal was; to her, the self-defense quotient was obvious. She'd never had a penchant for biting into people who were _not _attacking her in a darkened park; honestly, her lawyer must have been some kind of charlatan. How else could a case of a teenaged girl biting the big guy who jumped her on her way home from work have even made it to trial? Why had she even been arrested, for that matter?

Gotham logic, that's how. Dr. Crane had apparently made a few cool observations during their time together, and as she recalled he'd asked her some inappropriate and downright weird questions. _What kinds of things do you fear, Jane? Does this fear ever excite you? How often?_ At the time, Jane had wondered if he'd been hitting on her, in his own strange ways. Further encounters had proven him rather a cold fish.

Soon after the gavel had fallen, Jane had been given to the Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane. It had been a whirlwind; one day she'd been attacked, nearly strangled by a stranger in the night. Only a few days later she found herself incarcerated, desperate and infuriated at Gotham's justice system. She'd bitten him, and she'd taken a few bloody pieces away with her. He had deserved every bleeding chunk he lost.

She closed her light eyes to those thoughts; the tears tried to burn their way out, but Jane managed to stop them. Crying will do you no good now, girl. You know once you start, you won't be able to stop.

What would they have planned for today? She'd had one useless session of group therapy, where she'd seemed to be surrounded by garden variety thug types. She was no doctor, but to her uneducated eyes, she'd guess that less than a third of Arkham's population was actually insane. Many of them were jerks, yes, but few of them suffered, it seemed, in any way. In fact, they proudly walked around, smug, like schoolyard bullies immune to punishment. Arkham was like some kind of resort for petty criminals. Home, bitter home, for an undetermined amount of time. Jane wondered if she'd survive.

Footsteps dragged reality back; as real as the inside was, anyway. She stepped quickly back to her bed, slipping in just as the many keys clacked against her lock. She tried to regulate her breathing, calm her racing heart. Turned away from the door, hopefully they wouldn't see that she was already awake.

"Rise and shine, sweetheart", a woman's voice said. Jane unconsciously exhaled in relief; Maggie, a genuinely nice person. The only nurse or orderly who'd ever tried to make her comfortable in this place; she was an older woman, matronly, and seemed to actually care about those here who were truly sick. The gangster look-alikes she avoided like the plague; but the mentally ill, they were lucky to have someone like her. Jane was glad (as glad as one could be) that she was on duty this morning.

She almost stirred, almost gave herself away, before the next voice chimed in.

"Thank-you, Margaret. That will be fine, I'll take her from here."

Jane's heart sank at this; Crane. If she didn't know him personally, she knew she'd have been excited by him, his shocking blue eyes and the glossy, controlled mess of his black hair. He was handsome, beautiful, even; but, only outwardly. In the handful of times she'd been alone with him, Jane had learned, _felt_, that inside he was cold and twisted and unreachable by human means. She'd tried, time and time again, to explain her actions. At first she'd thought he'd been concerned for her state of mind, as a psychiatric doctor should be; he'd asked her in a hundred different ways about her fear, the panic that had driven her on the night that had ruined her life. In a hundred different ways she'd told him; the horror that had hit her as the monster's hands had closed around her throat, her air supply diminishing, the lights in her head going black…and the terrible feeling of this stranger's hands leaving her neck for the rest of her body. She'd lost consciousness in the Narrows then, and this was her night terror.

"You sure, Doctor?" Maggie asked. Her tone was guarded; Jane had the idea that, absurd as it was, the nurse may find trouble if the doctor thought her unduly concerned.

"Yes", Dr. Crane answered, in that clipped, condescending way he had. "You continue with your rounds, and I will deal with my patients. Understood?"

"Yes, Doctor." Maggie's displeasure was palpable; God bless an angel like her, Jane prayed as the door swung shut behind the woman; keep her on my side.

If she wasn't insane before – and she doubted she had been – Jane feared that madness was the only thing left for her; here, in the madhouse.

Softly, she heard him approach. "Jane", he said down to her, with no trace of compassion. "I know you're awake. Don't make me force you out of bed."

Private therapy; ah, yes. Another fine day in Arkham Asylum was about to begin.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2_  
_

_Madness, Thy Name is Crane_

"Make yourself comfortable, Jane", Dr. Crane said, seating himself across the bare metal table from her. He set his briefcase on the floor at his feet.

Jane took her own seat, at the insistence of a handy orderly. At least she wasn't in a straightjacket. Yet.

"Now, then", he started. His posture was impeccable, she noted. Hands folded neatly in front of him, shoulders set but relaxed. The frame of this man leaves little to chance, she realized. He showed no weakness. "Let's get right to it, shall we? Tell me about the night of the incident."

She snorted. This was a situation she was growing quite sick of. "The night I was _attacked,_ you mean?"

He nodded, seeming indulgent.

"Haven't we already covered this?" she asked. "You know what happened. I was walking home from work, not too far from here, and a guy came up to me. He asked for a cigarette, but I don't smoke. He didn't believe me, so he tried to strangle me and now I'm in a mental hospital."

Dr. Crane smiled with patience, not kindness. "I know we've gone over the mechanics of the night, Jane. What I want to know more intimately is your emotional response. Something scared you that night, something about it made you forget all your self-defense training and fall back on the primal instinct to physically bite. Perhaps you don't even know what it was. If we go over it, slowly, then I believe we can uncover what made you use your teeth above all other weapons."

She shook her head tiredly. This setting was less than comforting; a conference room of the sort one would see on an episode of _Law and Order._ The stark white walls were not enticing her to open up. "I have told you everything, more than once. What do you want from me? You want me to make something up?"

Crane turned, looking over his shoulder at the orderly guarding the door. "Would you leave us now, please? Feel free to wait outside."

The man left without question. Jane was uneasy as the young doctor turned back to her.

"Listen here, little Jane. If you ever want to be released from this place, you will cooperate. If I want to know something, you will tell me. You will be honest and forthcoming, do you understand?" Those blue eyes burned into her like sharp ice. He made an attempt to soften his approach, she saw. "We just want to help you, you see? We all need to understand you, Jane."

Jane did see. She saw that when he wanted to intimidate her, he acted alone, and when he wanted to try his version of sweet-talk, his 'I' became a 'we'. That was probably an accurate representation of her place here; she was safer in group therapy with a bunch of thugs and hit men than she was alone in a room with her psychiatrist.

She nodded numbly. She understood.

Crane smiled. "Good, then. I see we'll have to work together on this." He paused, thinking. After a moment, he said, "Hypnotherapy! Yes, excellent. Together, we will relive that night, and get to the bottom of your…well, your fear. Agreed?"

If she ever wanted to be released, indeed. Jane nodded silently again; she saw she had no choice. The smile that greeted her looked less like a man's than the curve of a carnivore's maw; all shining, pointed, hungry knives.

"Good, Jane! Good. Let's begin."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_A Monster Inside_

Dr. Crane had her agreement to cooperate, and that was all he needed. She was no longer a member of her family; as she went under, Jane realized that she now belonged to him.

He'd given her a mild sedative to ease her transition, as she'd been slightly shaken at the thought of giving complete control to a man she couldn't bring herself to trust. He'd removed the barrier of the table between them, moving his chair around to directly face hers. They sat, close as comrades, in the now darkened room. His briefcase had joined him, standing upright next to his chair. Jane did as she was told, and tried to relax.

"Alright, Jane. Just look at me, focus on my eyes. I'm going to count backwards from one hundred, and as I go, you will feel a great weariness wash over you. Do you understand?"

"Yes." The needle had stung; as the drug took effect, she tried, frantic inside, to hang on to that mild pain. It did no good; telling her to look into his crystalline eyes had been a death sentence, as far as Jane was concerned. There was no escaping them, those bottomless cold fires. At ninety-nine, she panicked as she felt life slip away from her. At ninety-one, she was lost.

_Jane, can you hear me?_

_Yes. _

_Where are you?_

_I'm outside the restaurant. My shift is over. _

_Good, I want you to move forward in time, just a little, until you're on your way home. I want you to go to the park, at the corner of Huntington and 53rd. Are you there?_

_Yes._

_Tell me what it's like._

_It's dark, really dark. One of the streetlights on the path is burned out. It's right in the middle of the park, so the lights from the outside streets don't reach here. _

_Are you frightened?_

_No. I walk this way every day. _

_Okay, go on. Are you alone?_

_Yes, I always- wait, no. Someone else is coming down the path towards me. _

_Describe them._

_I think it's a guy – yes, a guy. He's older than me, like thirty or forty. He's a bit tall, and big. Thick, muscular. His hair is really short. He's not that good looking…_

_Okay, Jane. Is he saying anything to you?_

_I-yeah, he wants a smoke. But I don't smoke. He doesn't believe me. He's getting pushy._

_Good work, Jane. Keep going. Tell me what's happening._

_I – hey -!…stop…_

_Jane? _

_I – I can't.._

_(pause)_

_Jane, are you being attacked right now?_

_(silence, as Jane labors to breathe)_

_Jane, I want you to step back, out of your body, until you can breathe again. Can you breathe now?_

_Yes._

_Tell me what's happening._

_He's on top of me on the ground. He has one hand around my throat, and I can't move, I can't get away. His other hand is pulling at my top…_

_Jane, are you frightened?_

_Yes! I can't get out…_

_Hang on to that. Don't push your fear away. _

_(Crane waits as her breathing quickens, and her whimpers turn to gasping screams)_

_Okay, Jane. Listen carefully. Are you listening?_

_I – yes. _

_The man who is choking you, he's trying to rape you, and he will surely kill you. You understand?_

_(she sobs)_

_This man, tell me who he is._

_I – I don't know him – _

_Jane, yes, you do. You know who he is. You told me during our first session. Who is he?_

_He – I – I can't._

_You can! Your fear will kill you if you can't say his name, won't it? If you cannot describe his face, he will kill you in your dreams, won't he?_

_No! _

_His face?_

_No…he has no face._

_Jane?_

_His face is…crawling, churning, oh god_

_What is he?_

_He's a devil, a monster_

_What else?_

_No!_

_(Crane's voice changes, deepens, as he speaks over the air and into Jane's memory of that night)_

_Jane, what am I?_

_No_

_(a further changing of Crane's voice, a hurling of fire into the space between reality and memory)_

…_Jane…!_

_Scarecrow! …scarecrow…_

_(gasping on both parts, as the air settles between them; Crane's voice returns to it's former human tone)_

_Jane, I am going to count to five. When I reach five, you will awaken refreshed, and you will remember nothing of this session except for your terror at the image of and word 'scarecrow'. _

_One_

_Two_

_Three_

_Four_

Five.

Jane opened her eyes. Her cheeks were wet, and her throat felt raw. She looked up at the doctor.

If she didn't know better, Jane may have thought she'd just been violated. The look on Dr. Crane's face was full of cruel gratification, with not an ounce of remorse. He appeared to be in the process of getting his breathing under control.

"Doctor?" she said hesitantly. He didn't look like he'd left his seat; that was a good sign. _Can't mess with me from all the way over there. Can you?_

In the blink of an eye, he had composed himself. It was as if a storm had swept through the two of them, but had miraculously touched nothing.

"Very good progress, Jane. We'll continue in this vein next time. Shall we?"

He rose, gesturing to the door. He was very nearly friendly; as Jane passed him, she noted a curious glow to his cheeks.

She definitely felt violated. She wished she could remember why.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

_And When You Pray, I'll Pray With You_

_Pray with me, momma._

Jane lay on her back in her dark, 'private' room. Faint light from the hallway shone a rectangle above her head, vaguely illuminating the sparse furnishings. Her room at home – her real home – was full of clutter, clothing and posters. Comfort. She had little of that here.

When she was a little girl, her mother had taught her how to pray. It had comforted her then as much as having her mother here now would. This time, she couldn't stop herself. Jane cried, trying to keep herself quiet, trying to keep one thing private in this place. She feared the camera hidden in the ceiling; what would showing this weakness bring tomorrow? Dr. Crane would pick up on that, for sure. After her session today, she knew he was a predator, with secret motives and techniques. He stalked the hallways with his shining blue eyes, his calculated cruelty, his strange obsessions. Arkham was his haunt, and everyone inside was his prey.

She hadn't seen him again after her therapy. She'd been delivered back into the common room, given a new medication, to 'regulate her rest patterns', as Crane had put it. After a few hours spent staring out of windows, trying to figure herself out, she'd been put to bed early. She was tired. She'd slept since then, had awakened in an unfamiliar cold sweat a few minutes ago. She'd been dreaming, she was sure of it…but what had she dreamed of?

She was afraid to close her eyes again, for fear of finding out. She tasted bitter copper in her mouth; licking, she realized that her lips were so chapped they bled. When had that happened? All signs seemed to point to her still being in the bad dream. When was her heart going to slow down again? Why couldn't she stop thinking of the park that night? The thick dark air, the curious blur that was the man's face. She could remember what he looked like at the trial; but before that, the first time they'd met, his identity while he attacked her – suddenly, that was a mystery.

She thought of the attacker now, in her cold and sterile prison; in her memory, he seemed inhuman. His presence that night had been like a demon walking the Earth, and although she knew visually that that man and Dr. Crane were polar opposites, she still could not erase the feeling of familiarity between the two. Was Crane a monster…a devil, too? Now, where had that thought come from….?

She took a deep breath, managing to overcome her fit of sadness. She would get home again; after all, she would be eighteen soon. Surely then she could do something to help herself? Until that day, a few months away, she would play along with him, her greatest captor, and in doing so try to keep her head above water.

_Be strong,_ she thought. _Be strong, and pray. _

Despite her tension, Jane's weariness again won, and darkness soon overtook her vision. This time, her sleep was dreamless.


	5. Chapter 5

_Hello everyone. I just wanted to say thanks for reading my story, and for the positive reviews you've given so far. I try to update every day, but I haven't gotten around to saying hi yet, so here it is. And since the last chapter was a bit short, here's the next, in which the coiled serpent becomes evident. Hope you like! - nH_

Chapter 5

_Big Plans_

Days passed, curiously without therapy. Jane learned to sleep early in the nights and awaken long before dawn; as they say, it is always darkest then. In the dark, she'd creep to the edges of her room, try to escape the feeling of electronic eyes on her skin. If she'd had a psychic sense, she'd honed it here, treading waters away from the burning sensation of being watched constantly. If her intuition was correct, the camera was set on an angle that excluded the very corner of the room, behind the door. It was focused on her bed, to watch her sleep. Maybe that was what gave her those mysterious tremors every night.

One such night, having fallen into sleep at about ten, she awoke to the absolute black that told her she'd again timed things correctly. She lay still for a moment, trying to make out the hands of the clock above the door. There was no seeing them; that meant it was around four. The asylum was silent. No one stirred, she'd bet even the night shift was resting. Good news for Jane; she crept out of her bed, along the floor like a shadow. Folding herself into her corner, she found true rest there, where the camera couldn't see her.

Here, she could think in privacy; catching herself in the middle of that thought, she wondered if she was becoming paranoid. No one could read her thoughts, could they? Not even Dr. Crane. Though if anyone could, it would be him. She'd seen him rarely the last week or so; he'd always seemed very busy, marching down the hallways or walking through the common room on a kind of patrol. He had things to do, perfectly sane people he had to have committed. On a few occasions, she even thought she'd caught him watching her; always out of the corner of his eye, of course, and he managed to turn away before she could meet his secret gaze. _Maybe he has a crush!_ a girlishly insane part of her thought. It was a mad idea. A crush can be a prelude to love, and Crane loved no one. As far as Jane could tell.

The sudden slamming of a thick metal door down the hall jarred her, almost making her give her position away to the electronic villain in the ceiling. No one moved at this hour; what could that be?

Highly unnerved now, the feeling of an impending apocalypse shaking her, (irrationally, she knew), Jane gathered herself into a taught ball, not knowing what else to do. _If the zombies bust in here, I'll just spring up and run past them!_

God, she was going insane.

No zombies entered; the sound of one set of feet approached, with perfectly regulated steps clearly not indicative of the undead. This may not have been better news; perhaps her thoughts of Crane had summoned him from wherever he stayed. Although, she'd thought of little else these days and hadn't seen him near her room, so that was unlikely. To her horror, the sounds slowed and stopped far too close for comfort. Jane closed her eyes, and tried to disappear.

_You know who it is. It's Dr. Crane, of course! Here to haunt you!_

_Or maybe it's worse…maybe it's something else…_

A strange fear, somehow familiar, seized her. When had she felt this way before? Every fear had a different taste; fear of being late, fear of being hit by a bus. What danger past was this one from?

"Doctor?" a voice called outside, breaking the suspense. Another set of sounds came to join the doctor outside her door. She hoped they weren't on their way in.

"Ssh!" the doctor hissed. If ever Jane could identify a man with one syllable, it was Crane. He hissed like no other; how did she know that…? "Patients are trying to sleep. What is it?"

The two retreated a small distance down the hall, presumably to avoid waking those patients Crane was so concerned about. Jane moved just slightly, hoping to hear their private conversation. It was faint, but she could still make it out bits and pieces.

"Your patient. File number…235F." The voice of the other young man hushed accordingly. "When did you need her…medication switched?"

"Patient 235F…", Crane murmured, accompanied by what could have been the sound of rustling papers. "I'll need her…new prescription…tomorrow morning."

"That's what I thought", the young man said nervously. "Good thing…because look at this…"

Another rustling; Jane thought she detected Crane suck in a short breath. "Ah, I see", he said. "She'll be of age soon. It's enough time; not as much as I would have hoped, but enough…"

"So, you want to proceed as planned?"

A pause. "No", he answered finally. "I'll need these months to observe her progress. Skip stage two…move right to three."

"Is that safe?"

"Let me worry about that. Good of you to bring this to my attention…I'll handle the patient's safety."

"Yes, sir."

One set of footsteps disappeared down the hall. The other lingered for a moment, then moved softly back to Jane's door. Jane remembered that morning last week, when she'd lain awake in bed, listening to Dr. Crane scold Maggie out of her room. He'd known she was awake then; he probably knew it now, too. He was probably waiting for her to move, to give herself away. They both remained still as coiled serpents, each watching for the other to strike so they could either make their escape, or go in for their kill.

_Jane,_ she imagined him whisper.

Finally, Crane walked away. Jane listened to him go, and prayed for her eighteenth year to come before her sanity left her.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

_a Narrow line_

The next morning confirmed the feeling of inescapable change. If Crane was her enemy, the time for confrontation was fast approaching.

"What are these?" Jane asked the nurse with the medication trolley, although she had known this was coming. She'd lain awake for hours, wondering how she was going to counter this move.

"New meds", the nurse answered. Not Maggie, unfortunately; in fact, Jane hadn't seen Maggie since her hypnotherapy treatment. She'd been the one to take her back to her room that evening; that had been the last time they'd spoken. "Doctor's orders."

Jane accepted the paper cup. "What are they for?"

A look of impatience flashed across the woman's face. Jane imagined she had better things to do than tell some seventeen-year old biter what she was putting into her body. "They're for your serotonin", she answered with a false sweetness. "Keep your mood up."

"Okay", she said. She tipped the cup back, spilling the little pills into her mouth. "When will they start working?"

"They should start immediately."

Jane swallowed obediently, allowing the nurse to look into her mouth and under her tongue. Satisfied, she wheeled away, leaving Jane relatively alone in the common room.

Immediately. That was not what Jane had wanted to hear. She wandered over to a window, and, with her back to the room, carefully sucked the pills out of the cavity at the back of her throat. At the time, she'd thought she was going to choke; if she'd tipped back any further when 'swallowing', they'd be coming out of her nose. She spat them into her palm, inspecting the tiny blue capsules. She didn't know what they were supposed to do, but she doubted it was anything as helpful as mood elevation. If she didn't make an educated guess soon…

"Jane", the doctor, making a very half-hearted effort to sound warm, greeted her unexpectedly. He glanced down as she quickly closed her palm; luckily his gaze didn't linger on her hands. "How are you feeling today?"

"Okay", she said; then, remembering the nurse's story, she added, "Good, actually."

He smiled, highlighting perfect cheekbones and full lips. If it had been genuine, Jane's heart would have quickened with something other than uneasiness. "Good, good. Can you come with me, please?"

"What for?"

He was almost jovial today. "Therapy", he said. "It's that time again. You're not busy, are you?"

Jane smiled, though that was a cruel shot to take at someone locked away in a mental institution. "No", she allowed. "I just didn't realize it was time again…"

"Ah, well. Come this way."

Jane followed him out of the common room, down a stark white corridor. She couldn't remember if this was the same room he'd used before; as he ushered her in, she appraised the drab green colour of the walls, and decided that she remembered something distinctly brighter than this. There was no table here, either; only two chairs, padded this time, faced each other next to a caged window.

"What are we doing today?" Jane asked, nervously gripping the little pills in her palm. She had the feeling that the clear capsules were dissolving in the heat; she hadn't had the chance to dispose of them yet.

"Well, we had such success with last week's session, I thought we'd continue to use hypnotherapy to unlock those fears of yours." Crane took a seat, again setting his trusty briefcase at his feet. He gestured for her to do the same.

Jane sat opposite him; she twisted and fiddled with the edge of her top, hoping he wouldn't notice that she hadn't opened her hand in the last five minutes.

"You look nervous", he observed, quite correctly. His dark voice, always somewhat dry, seemed almost sincerely concerned today. "How have you been sleeping?"

She shrugged. "Alright, I guess."

"I've noticed that you seem to be getting to bed much earlier lately; I do hope you haven't been very fatigued by the medication?"

Jane really didn't know what to say. She shrugged again, forcing herself to look into his azure eyes, trying to ignore the penetrating ice there. "What are my new pills for?" she asked quite suddenly, shocking even herself.

Dr. Crane seemed a bit taken aback as well. "They're to combat depression", he answered. "It's a common problem among many of the younger patients."

"But I haven't been depressed", she lied.

He smiled. "Perhaps you haven't noticed. Sometimes it's better to nip these things in the bud, so to speak."

She nodded weakly, realizing that the doctor would probably never answer a question directly.

Crane rubbed his hands together briskly; Jane told herself it was because the room was cold. "Shall we begin?"

Helpless again, Jane had to agree. She clutched her new pills; hopefully their absence would keep her in the real world, help her see what the doctor had planned.

"Okay, Jane", the doctor said. There was something in his sharp eyes, a gleam that may belie excitement. "We'll start off the same as last time; just focus on me, listen to my voice…"

_Jane, _she begged herself frantically,_ stay inside yourself_

_Don't lose your head_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Hey, folks! Thanks for all the reviews, I'm glad you're liking the story so far! Please, keep up the critiques, I appreciate it so much! Anything that helps me write better is welcome. I do love to edit. And, anabrupt end to a chapter, I know. Stay tuned!_

_-nH_


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

_a Narrow line, pt. 2_

The world went black, and Jane could feel control slipping away. The capsules in her hand dug into her skin, inside a crescent-shaped line of nails. She used the pain to connect herself to reality, as much as was possible.

She heard a deep, steady voice from a million miles away. To her horror, she realized that she had no idea who this person was. It seemed familiar; what was his name? How did she know him…? It was a man, she knew; he was drawing her into the dream, out of her own life. Panic seized her; it tried to drown her. It was the weapon used by the monster that was gaining on her every second…

_Where is his face? _

_Where is his face…!_

Jane gasped. Back in the real world – she fervently hoped – she was suddenly cold, uncomfortable. She tried to bring her hands up to shield herself from the bright light; they were immobile. Looking down, she saw with hazy, half-blind eyes thick straps across both wrists. The restraints were so tight they were beginning to cut off her circulation; the harsh metal of her chair dug into her arms and legs, chilling her to the bone. She was starting to reconsider her hopes that this wasn't a dream.

"Jane, are you back with us?" that unrecognized voice said.

Dr. Crane, of course. It felt silly in retrospect.

Jane blinked, squinting against the painful light. "Y-yes", she croaked. How is one expected to respond to treatment like this?

Gradually, the light faded, leaving her with useful eyes once again. Dr. Crane hovered above her, unsettlingly close to her seat.

"Jane, I found your pills."

She was starting to wish he'd stop saying her name; it had some bad, unclean feeling about it. At first she didn't know what he was talking about; her empty hands, she soon realized. She looked down at her palm; empty, indeed. Only a curve of moon-shaped cuts, and a clear sticky residue. Bad news.

Jane forced herself to look up at him. Surprisingly, he seemed no colder than usual. Of course, she thought, maybe it just doesn't get colder than Crane on a good day. He was sub-zero, the most chilling wind ever to pass through her. In the face of his nuclear winter, Jane remained silent.

"Nothing to say?" he inquired. He was smug, sickeningly so, as he reached down to tighten one of her restraints. She winced at the pain. Now there was a temperature change; Jane swore she saw a glint inside him, like a fire had been lit at her expense. She stifled a gasp; even his growing heat was a deep freeze.

"Well, now. As your medication is imperative-" he produced a handy syringe at this – "I will have to ensure you take it." He leaned into her space conspiratorially, though she was sure they were alone in the room. "You know, this isn't even the last of it. I have to prepare you for the final dose."

She supposed that was good news; better than jumping right to the end-stage, in any event. She tried to calm her racing heart; anything to buy her time, how could she save herself from this? Momentarily, her mind shut down, leaving her with visions of her mother, her cat, her home; she quickly regained control, to a limited extent. There were no words in her brain, none that made sense.

_Do it! Do it again! Save yourself!_

Dr. Crane moved closer to her, intentionally, she was sure. He tried to appear preoccupied, but she was quite aware of his proximity, the way he forced himself into her most intimate presence. It was an affront, a deliberate recollection of the attack; laying a hand on her wrist, he turned to face her, fierce blue irises inches away from Jane's own. Jane forced herself to stay awake, widening her dark gray eyes to encompass all the consciousness the room had to offer. Her breath laboured – no, the park was coming back, the man had his hands around her throat –

"Jane", he hissed with complete confidence. The human face of Jonathan Crane flickered in and out, replaced intermittently with something infinitely more horrible. This beast, whoever he was, positively panted with excitement or exertion. Or both.

His icy hands moved up her arms, a lascivious gesture. He pressed even closer, he was sucking the air right out of her lungs –

"Did you miss me?"

A solitary, nightmarish breath later, she was on her back in the cold, wet grass. There was a man on top of her; her windpipe was collapsing under his weight. From somewhere inside, a little voice whispered that this was all a dream, a bad bad dream. _And once you realize you're in a dream, Jane, you can control the whole world. _

She'd settle for controlling herself at this point. The man crushing her continued to choke her senselessly, occasionally showing his face. Lucid now, Jane saw that the horror was a mask, albeit a very effective one. Her dreamy hands reached up, clawed in slow motion. Amazingly, something clicked; her fingers passed through a rough fabric, proving this imaginary. Away came the burlap, the heavy twine-stitched mouth. Underneath it all was the face of an ordinary man.

He tensed, grimaced; he didn't appear to notice the change. His efforts to ruin her went on, and Jane feared that this time, he wouldn't be stopped.

_Do it! Do it again!_

Jane lunged upward, feverishly, for some reason unable to use her hands now. She utilized the only weapon she had left, and from somewhere very far away, she heard a grown man scream.

There was another deep, startling sound; like the crack of thunder. Jane's eyes were still open wide; reality suddenly poured in, the dingy olive walls, the fluorescent lights buzzing in the ceiling. There was no longer any man invading her personal space; the only other person in the room stood startled against the far wall, holding his neck. His bright blue eyes were locked on her, and he was gasping now not from gratification, but from shock.

Slowly he took his hand away, seeming reluctant to look. He soon calmed; turning back to her, he showed her his relatively clean palm.

"Only saliva", Crane said, triumphant. "No blood for you this time, Jane."

_Welcome back to the land of the living. _

What Jane hadn't taken from him in blood, Crane would take from her in freedom, she was sure. Reality wasn't such a relief, after all.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So that's the conclusion of Jane's most recent session. Hope you enjoyed! I love getting all the reviews you send, thanks so much for taking the time. Be assured that I intend to keep Crane in character; it's just the way I see him, myself. Thanks for all the feedback!

-nH


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

_Fate Sets Forth an Angel_

The spiral downward quickened.

Jane's residence was moved, with shocking speed and efficiency, to the maximum security ward. It was lucky, she supposed, that she didn't have any personal belongings here. It ensured that they had little more to take away.

She watched it all from a distance. After her incident – a term now used not to describe the attack on her, but her attack on the doctor – her world became a hazy far-off dream. It had to stay that way, because if she let the real world affect her, she'd surely lose herself for good. Dr. Crane was curiously unafraid of her; she would have thought she'd have a new doctor by now. Anyone else would have run into the night after being bitten by a patient; not, she realized, that he was really her doctor. She looked at him with a bitterness now, having learned a great deal of his character in the space of that hour or so. He wasn't her doctor; he was her demon.

Her new room had bars on an even smaller window set into an even heavier door. There was some kind of electronic lock to it; she didn't catch the details, in her sedated daze. The common room became a fond memory of relative freedom. One did not make friends in the Max ward. It was hard to connect underground.

The passage of time became something Jane didn't trust herself to judge with any accuracy; by her best guess, about another week had passed before she met Angie.

Seven – possibly seven – days of almost constant isolation; a lonely white room, meals delivered with a notable lack of cutlery. A daily fifteen-minute break from herself outside; an ironic idea, as there was rarely another person in the segregated yard at the same time as her. It was an unnecessary vacation; for the first few days, she had no memory of anything outside her room anyway. On the fifth day (or thereabout), she remembered enough of the previous excursion to look forward to staring at the sky and pretending she was somewhere else.

On the sixth day, God introduced a confidant.

It was the first time she'd seen her; shockingly enough, another young woman of similar age stood staring at her as if she were on fire. Jane thought she would have noticed this sooner. Just as she made her way across the narrow yard to speak to the stranger, a tap on her shoulder told her that her time was up. _Oh, well. Probably just a figment of your imagination, judging by the way things are going. _

As fortune would have it, the other girl was no more imaginary than Jane feared her entire life was likely to be. They were allowed to meet each other in the hall on their way back to their rooms. As their own personal orderlies distracted themselves with idle chatter, the girl swayed close to Jane, whispering into her ear.

"You're her, huh? The biter."

Jane looked at her in surprise. "How do you know me?" she said carefully.

The girl smiled; it seemed sincere, though they were in a mental hospital. "Oh, we've heard about you down here. You got Crane. Or he got you." She shrugged. "It's hard not to fall into his trap, once he figures you out. I'm Angie."

Jane nodded, still wary. "Jane. How do you…hear things, down here?"

Angie smiled again; this time, it was a little darker. "I got more; you want to hear it?"

Jane agreed without any real thought; but, the time had come for them to part.

"I'm next to you", Angie hissed, inexplicably, as her orderly walked her down the hall and around the corner. Jane considered questioning her own man about it; unlikely that it would get her anything other than more 'therapy'. She hadn't seen Crane in almost a week. A day without the doctor was a day without terror, she'd learned.

The man locked her in for the day, and she felt as if she were being sealed her into her tomb. Nothing to do now but wait for night to come, and wonder if Dr. Crane would reach her first.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Goodness, how reviews restore one! Thankyou for all you've done, folks. I've got big plans for Jane and Angie. So keep in touch, all. And thankyou for coming back!

-nH


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

_-Another Storm Ahead-_

_You got Crane. Or he got you._

Jane decided that it was definitely the latter statement that applied this time; it was certain that she'd been had. _Fell for the old 'hypnotic terror manipulation' gag. I'm such a sucker._

She lay in her room, absently flipping through back issues of magazines she had no interest in. Time passed surprisingly fast for her. The days had ceased to stretch themselves into infinity; this coincided with the sudden absence of her daily sedatives. Someone had decided that she'd had enough of that for the time being, but she had a hard time imagining that that someone would be Crane. Unless having her sedated made her no good to him; she wondered what would make that so. Usually, if a doctor was going to take advantage of a young female patient, having her under sedation would be an asset.

_Maybe he doesn't intend to take advantage of you in that way. _

That ghoulish thought was even less welcome than the one of Crane having his hands all over her as she slept; probably because the idea of him needing her for some pleasure that was _not _sexual, in the conventional sense, seemed far more likely. He seemed the sort not enthralled by beauty, or charm; he did have lust, though, that she knew. She'd sensed it in him the first time they'd met, as he'd questioned her about the man in the park. It wasn't exactly for her, although she was involved; it was almost as if he derived his excitement from her discomfort…or her fear.

_What kind of a psychiatrist is he? What kind of a man?_

"Jane."

A disembodied echo crept into her ear. Startled, she looked up, around, seeing no one at her door. She waited a minute; no footsteps from the hall, either. As her new home was in the basement, several levels below the street in fact, the possibility of someone calling from outside was nonexistent. Jane held her breath, remained absolutely stock still, and was disappointed when the sound did not repeat itself immediately. This went a long way in proving that being locked in a sanitarium would eventually drive one mad.

She let her breath out and tried to move on; ignore the voices, they'll go away. She hadn't realized how tense she'd become until she heard it again, and nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Jane! Biter, you there?"

Jane stood, scanning the ceiling for – yes, there it was. A ventilation grate, fairly huge, set in the wall very close to the top.

"Y-yes?" she called, quiet and uncertain.

Apparently, it did no good. "If you're there," the voice continued, and at this point she was pretty sure she knew who it was, "get closer to the vent and talk into it."

There were two items of furniture in her room; the bed and a chair. Jane doubted the bed would move across the floor quietly, with its steel frame that complained when she sat on it, let alone when she tried to shift its position. The chair would have to do.

It was heavier than she'd hoped. Standing on it didn't bring her close enough to speak with any confidence, either; nevertheless, she stretched out and gave another quiet call.

"Hello?" she said. "Angie?"

A laugh greeted her. "You got it, kid! See, I'm right next to you!"

Indeed, the wall she now balanced herself against did face the hallway she'd last seen Angie disappear into. "Isn't this dangerous?"

"Nah", Angie answered. "Not any more than being here is dangerous. So, listen, you seen Jon lately?"

"Jon?"

"Yeah, Jonnie – oh, you probably just call him Dr. Crane." There was a short giggle. "He's my guy. But he doesn't come to see me much now that I stole his files…"

Jane began to wonder if this conversation was going anywhere. "Okay, well…"

"See, I know about you. I snuck a peek at _your _file, hon."

That got her attention. "My file? What's in there?"

"I'd love to tell you, but I can't right now. I guess this way is a little dangerous. Besides, it's almost therapy time."

"For you? If Dr. Crane's not treating you, who is?"

"Dr. Jonnie Crane is treating me, sweetheart. Today he's treating all of us."

"Angie, what…?"

"Get down now. I'll see you soon!"

Jane obediently got down; stunned, she sat on the chair, wondering what had just happened. Angie had seen her file. If Crane had plans for her – surely he did – Angie likely knew them.

Then again, Angie did seem a trifle nutty. Not unusual, given the setting, but it did throw her validity into question. _Treating all of us?_

Jonnie Crane…she'd forgotten his first name in the tension of the last few weeks. While she pondered this, footsteps came clanging down the corridor, and she barely had time to stand before another orderly knocked. He waited only briefly before stepping in. "Come on, miss", he said. "Time for group."

Group therapy. Ah, yes; now it made sense. He was treating all of them today, and Jane would indeed see Angie soon.

She followed the big man in white; another connection to the doctor, the promise of another storm ahead. But, perhaps this time it would be different. With an ally, crazy or not, she could step close to the Crane without getting burned. She hoped, in any event.

Jane walked into a new kind of common room then, the underground kind, where many different insanities twitched and mingled; the doctor sat among them, and turned to face her approach. In those eyes of sky, she saw a storm indeed. Angie winked at his side; Jane couldn't wait to see what Jonnie had in mind.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hey, it's the author talking to herself again! Without giving away too much, here are some notes. Angie is a little cuckoo, but I would say that holding up one's end of a conversation does not certify one's sanity. That is to say, she's not on the same level of sanity as Jane. But not like a walking recording of gibberish, either; well, you'll see. I actually have a lot of this written or conceptualized already, but that definitely does not make comments unwelcome! I appreciate any thoughts any of you could send my way, immediate or otherwise. Keeps me on my toes, which is a good place to be. Also, I'm updating again already because I may not be able to for a few days. Don't want anyone to forget about me while I edit and such, y'know...

- nH

ps. - Y'know what else rhymes, that I didn't realize until I was well into the story? Jane + Crane. Yeah. Tell me that doesn't sound dumb in retrospect. I only hope I haven't ruined the story for you.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

_- Re-acquaintance With The Crane - _

"Group, I'd like to introduce Jane, a patient of mine from upstairs", Dr. Crane said.

Looking at the circle assembled around her, Jane realized the difference between this group and the first she'd attended; in a word, insanity. These gathered here today were genuinely…ill. Every one of them appeared tightly wound, except Angie. She stared with her big brown doe eyes at the doctor, absently twirling a strand of her dark hair. He remained unmoved.

Jane regarded Crane warily; luckily, he didn't seem to be paying any special attention to her yet today, aside from the introduction. She hoped it stayed that way, watching as he quietly spoke to another patient. His demeanor was pleasant, but detached. Better than the last time she'd seen him.

"Jane", he said, dashing her hopes as he turned his gaze upon her. "Would you like to share your circumstances? How you came to be here, I mean."

She was tempted to recount her story about Gotham's ludicrous judicial system, not to mention her not-at-all trustworthy doctor, but she managed to restrain herself in time. She doubted that it was what Crane wanted to hear.

"Well," she started carefully, "about two months ago, I was walking home from work when a man approached me. He attacked-"

"Can you describe the man, Jane?" he interrupted.

"Sure", she replied, hesitant. "Uh, I guess he was about…your height. Thin…" she swallowed, suddenly finding her throat dry. "He had…blue eyes."

Dr. Crane blinked in surprise. "You remember his eyes? That's very…good." He'd thought for a moment about the last word, finally settling on 'good'. Something about the way he said it made Jane think that perhaps, for him, it wasn't.

"Yes," she answered, unsure of the effect it would have on him. "I do remember."

He continued to stare at her for some time, finally smiling slightly; to reassure her, no doubt. He turned back to the group, intending to ask another general question. Angie interrupted him this time.

"What was he wearing?" she asked Jane.

"Oh, I don't really…it was dark. He was wearing dark clothes. And…something else, something weird about his face." She sighed, frustrated. Looking up at the girl, almost feeling for the moment that they were having a private conversation, she said, "I don't know. I don't remember, it's like a hazy nightmare."

"That often happens after a trauma such as yours", Crane offered, reminding her of his presence. "Memory shuts down, to protect one from one's fear. It would do you a world of good to confront that, Jane."

"Yeah", she answered hollowly. "I wish I could remember…what's really going on."

"We're just trying to help you." He again turned to the circle, many of whom were inexplicably shaking, avoiding the doctor's eyes. "Everyone here today has an issue regarding fear and phobia. In your cases, it has been so severe they've led you to commit violent crimes. The first step to overcoming this – to getting out of here, healthy – is to share. Confide."

He wasn't looking at her anymore, thankfully, but Jane could still see his all-too familiar sadistic glimmer. _I'm afraid of you, doctor. But you like that, don't you?_

This brought up a certain optimism for Jane, but at the moment she couldn't imagine how. She doubted she'd be able to fake 'recovery' well enough for him to stop his extreme treatment of her. As she attempted to push her hopelessness down for just a little while longer, Crane went on to the group, encouraging them in ways an outsider would have believed sincere; looking around, Jane knew that no one in the room bought that story anymore.

"Jon, what are you afraid of?"

Who else could that be; Crane turned to Angie, seated beside him, with an air of temperance. "Angel, we've had this conversation before. Please address me as Doctor Crane."

She smiled wickedly; it wasan expressionJane hadn't seen since she'd watched daytime television at home.

"I know, the one about professional relationship, blah blah. Okay; I will call you my doctor-" she said the word in a slightly salacious tone – "if you call me your Angel."

Crane dropped his gaze and sighed. Although, Jane noted in fascination, he did not blush.

"Angel. You are no more mine than any of your peersare. You are all my patients; that is the extent of all of our relationships. Alright?"

Angie just smiled, halfway between vacant and unsettling.

"Well, our time is nearly up for now", Crane said. "Does anyone have any questions?"

Angie raised her hand. Jane wondered if the look that crossed the doctor's face would qualify as a mild form of fear.

"Yes, Angel?"

"Didn't you used to teach at Gotham University?"

That must have been for Jane's benefit; she saw none of her surprise echoed in the faces of the others. Crane gritted his teeth, almost imperceptibly.

"Why don't you teach now?" Angie continued. "Do you just like our company?"

For a second, Jane thought she saw the doctor's resolve to remain untouchable nearly falter. He'd risen from his seat already; the hand holding his briefcase tightened until the handle creaked and his knuckles whitened. He snapped out of his fugue, clearing his head with a nod.

"I'm not the focus of our time together, Angel."

She giggled; Jane suddenly wished she had an ounce of her confidence. "Oh, you are for me, doctor."

As Jane sat dumbstruck by Angie's gall, the other patients rose and filed out of the dingy little room like zombies heeding the call of fresh brains. Angel herself stood, and Jane followed her lead as she made her way toward their own orderlies. Jane almost expected Angie to blow a kiss to him; she just smiled flirtatiously and walked away. She was stopped at the last second by the object of her affection.

"I'll be looking forward to resuming our private sessions, Angel."

At that, Jane thought she saw a crack appear in the girl's infatuated veneer. She stopped for a second, and her smile nearly vanished. She forced a chuckle, and answered without turning back to face him.

"Oh. Me too, Doc."

Jane stood uncertainly between the two; Crane caught her looking at him and smiled.

"That goes for you as well, Jane. You haven't scared me off." He took a step towards her, and though he was across the room, she instinctively backed up. He snickered and spoke in confidence nonetheless. "I can't wait to continue in our therapy."

Jane froze for a second; then, she heard Angie hiss at her, and she broke free of his hypnotic stare. She left, feeling rescued, for the time being; but, deep in her fearful mind, some negative part of her whispered that she'd never see the sane sun again. Arkham, Crane, and 'therapy' would be the death of her.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A note from your loving Not Human:

It's not what it looks like, folks. Those of you who may start to think Angie's lookin like a good girlfriend sort for Crane, I mean. Just remember, we are in a mental asylum now; not everyone there can be completely sane, can they? Well, debatable, in Arkham's case, but still. Take Angie with a grain of salt, I say. And do let me know what you think! I will love you forever if you do.

- nH


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

_Angel Underground_

In the hall, Jane turned warily to glance back at the doorway to the room she'd just blessedly vacated. She could feel a presence at her back; the way one would feel in a haunted house at a carnival, expecting a masked man to sneak up at any moment and pop a balloon in one's ear. Cheap thrills; Crane's thrills weren't cheap, though, were they? No, she suspected that they came at one heck of a cost. She also doubted that she'd classify them as 'thrills' so much as 'horrors'.

"Are you coming or what, Bitey?" Angie called impatiently. She stood with an orderly at her back, arms crossed over her chest, tapping a foot like a cartoon character. Angie was a character, indeed.

"Where are we going?"

"Outside again, of course. Crane likes to let us have a little more oxygen time on group days."

He liked to let them have a little more oxygen time on group days; it struck Jane that if she hadn't been committed for the last few weeks, she'd have no idea what any of that meant.

_My, how language can change with circumstance._

Heading outside, Jane counted herself lucky that she rarely left her room without her sweater. The air was chilly, smelling of sharp autumn bonfires, Hallowe'en, real life. Probably all that oxygen blowing in from the outside world.

"What do you suppose it is we _do _breathe in there?" Angie mused, leading Jane to a corner. Setting herself on the ground, she seemed surprisingly comfortable. "Whatever it is, it gives me nightmares…"

Jane tentatively sat beside her. The grass felt wet, but that may just have been the cold. "Me too…" she agreed. "So, Crane's your guy, huh?"

The girl smiled at her brightly; her teeth were nearly perfect, save for the slight turn of her incisors. They appeared more prominently, displaying themselves as fangs. With her new identity as 'the biter', Jane almost wished she had them.

"Yeah, well. He hasn't accepted it yet." Her voice dropped to a passable impression of Crane. "It would do him a world of good to confront that, Jane."

Jane laughed; it sounded foreign to her own ears. She casually looked around. "Can we talk here?"

"Oh, sure. The guards leave me to myself in the yard; not much harm I can do to myself, or anyone, here. No escape, no guys small enough for me to overpower. And Crane never comes out here, so he's safely hidden away from me."

This was becoming quite a diversion from Jane's hellish new life. "What happened there?" she asked, trying not to sound too eager. She hungered for news of Crane's weakness, if he suffered one, and Angie appeared to have what she needed. "Did you two know each other outside?"

Angie snorted. "No, no. There is no outside", she answered incredulously. "No, I met him here, my first week, like you. I was in for attempting to confine a handsome young classmate in my house." She sighed. "He didn't know what he was missing. Anyway, Jon evaluated me, and damn if I didn't forget about that other guy right away. Those eyes…" she sighed again, blissfully this time. Apparently those eyes had distracted her from the fact that he was a monster.

"So, he evaluated you…?"

"Yeah", she said, coming back to herself. "He evaluated me, and found me fit to be confined here. And now I get to see him all the time. Well, I used to…"

"And?

Angie paused. "It was weird. Well, not if you know him. Like I said, it's hard not to fall into his trap once he has you pegged. I was in therapy with him for quite a while, like six months. He'd meet me early in the mornings, really early, sometimes even before the day shift started. The sun would be coming up. I'd get to see the sunrise reflected in those hottie glasses…"she giggled. "So, when he talks to me, I shiver. His voice, the way he looks at me…for months, I really thought he was getting more and more ready for me. I mean, he reciprocated, dammit! I swear it.

"The thought of someone not liking me back is seriously threatening to my well-being, y'know? So usually I go crazy – for lack of a better term – trying to figure out if a guy digs me. With Jonnie, I'd lay a hand on his leg, touch his arm when he'd talk to me in the hall, stuff like that. The first time I touched him like that he looked like I'd just put a tarantula on him or something. But after that…he'd make sure we were alone. Then he'd interview me, ask me sexy questions, like when was my first time, yadda yadda. He shifted in his seat like he was – ooh, just thinking about it!…anyway, for weeks and weeks this went on, getting stronger every day, until I couldn't stand it anymore…"

Jane had her doubts about Crane's interest in Angie, which Angie seemed to agree on, in a way. _Hard not to fall into his trap…_"What happened when you couldn't stand it anymore?"

Angie took a breath, staring off into the hard asphalt. "He got me. The bastard." She laughed, a short, bitter affair. "It was another early day, we were alone in one of those painful white rooms. Sometimes he'd let me walk around during a session, stretch my legs. He said I looked like I needed to relieve some tension. He said he could relate to that, wink wink. So I was wandering, looking out the window, and I remember the exact question he asked me at that precise moment."

Another full stop; Jane waited, but Angie appeared lost in the past. "Angie", she prodded, impatient.

"I wasn't looking at him; I'd needed a rest from the visual stimulation. I was looking out the window, and he said 'how do you want me to help you, Angel, what do you want me to do to you?' Well, the 'do to you' part just set me on fire, y'know? So I turned around, and he was suddenly right behind me, or in front of me at that point. He pushed himself onto me, understand? I swear to God, he did. He was just, like, right there, almost _all over me_. I just couldn't…I did the stupid thing."

"Which was?"

"I kissed him."

Jane's mouth fell open. Crane was handsome, in a way, but she simply could not imagine pressing her lips to his. He was bad inside, she felt it; he dirtied her with every session they had. She could, however, easily see him pushing himself onto a girl; he had practically done that during their last hypnotherapy date, if she was not mistaken.

Angie nodded at Jane's disbelief. "Oh, yes. And he kissed me back. I should have known, though; it felt wrong. Like he was phoning it in. At the time, though, I was eager to think he was into me, so I started to loosen his tie and stuff…and then an orderly walked in, and Crane pushed me away like I was trying to suck his blood." She shrugged. "I've been down here ever since."

"I see", Jane said, at a loss for words. He had reverse-sexually-assaulted her, it seemed. "Do you think…what do you think he was doing?"

"What do you think he was doing? I honestly still don't know. All the nurses and orderlies saw me hitting on him in public for weeks beforehand, and when I think of it now, he so obviously never gave anything back in front of them. So maybe he just set me up, or maybe he really was interested but had to back off because I'm a patient…" she shook her head. "I don't know. He continued to see me for a while after I got down here, but I was like obsessed at that time, and I started going through his stuff. I got caught just last week. Just last week…funny, it seems like longer that I hadn't seen him. I _was_ getting it regular from him every day, you know."

Therapy, Jane understood.

"And that's the story of how I came to be underground." She glanced at the building next to them. "You know we're so far down there aren't even any windows for us?"

"I've never had a window here."

"Ah", Angie pondered. "He must have really liked you. Drove you crazy faster."

_What a sweet, thoughtful man._

Looking back at all the signs he'd sent her, Jane realized that in his world, he very well may like her. He'd broken the ice by introducing himself as a doctor, he'd shown his affection by having her placed in his hospital for the insane. He'd even betrayed her scant trust in him by throwing her in the cellar; to top it all off, here she was, talking to his ex. If causing madness was courtship to him, he had certainly been a busy little bee.

How does one break up with a boyfriend like that?

Angie nodded with growing conviction. "Just you wait", she said. "He does like you. If he hasn't wormed his way inside you yet-" Jane wasn't sure what she meant by 'inside', but let her continue anyway – "he'll do it soon. You're not a raving lunatic, so he's got to be up to something. You and me both, kid." She put her arm around her, making Jane slightly uncomfortable. "We're his new wives, and he's just aching to break us in."

The thought nearly drove Jane to tears; she hugged her knees instead, and felt the chill air seep into her skin. Life was just a memory now, she feared; she was Persephone, and her Underworld would never let her go.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alright, then! Remembering to take Angie lightly, sort of, right? And Thankyou for the great comments, folks. I believe I mentioned somewhere that I have actually managed to attract as readers the sort of writers I admire; imaginative, literate guys and gals with a critical yet supportive eye. Thanks, all! Keep reminding me that you're reading; it makes me want to post faster.

- nH


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

_The Secret Level_

This new home for Jane certainly was an Underworld. Among the quiet, the scarred, those who muttered to themselves looking for answers, Jane wandered as she had above in an attempt to avoid scrutiny. Two days passed, during which Angie would send her confusing hand-signs across the yard; for instance, occasionally she'd point to a certain window on a high floor, then relay the gesture for two hand puppets making out. That one wasn't so obscure; Jane was pretty sure she knew what Angie was referring to. There were others that were less clear, and Jane never had the desire to question her about them during the sporadic vent-conversations. Her flappings and pokes would have to remain a mystery.

Another curious few days passed without Crane. Jane began to wonder if getting her down there had been his goal all along, and all this about 'breaking them in' was just the chatter of the mentally unbalanced. Instinctually, she knew better, of course. As with all men, in her experience, there was a look in his eyes that he would be hard pressed to disguise. He wanted her; he was hungry for something. She doubted she'd ever get used to seeing it.

On another chilly evening, when the girls had nothing scheduled for them but hours and hours of staring at the walls, Jane again found herself distracted by a voice from above.

"Hey, Bitey!"

Well, who could that be?

Jane climbed up on her chair, stretching her neck out to reach the conduit. "Hey", she called.

"Oh, girl, you'll never guess what I found today." She didn't sound jubilant, as she usually did when she uncovered a scrap of information concerning Jonnie's eating habits or the like. She sounded…awe-struck, almost disturbed.

"Angie?"

"Janie, do you know where we are?"

A beat; Angie was usually full of surprises, and she sounded positively brimming today.

"Arkham Asylum?" Jane guessed.

"Yes, but _where_ in Arkham?"

"Oh...underground? The Max ward?"

"Underground, yes. The Max ward…apparently not."

Jane hushed; something about the hum of important information always chastened her. "What do you mean?"

"Okay, I was wandering the halls like they don't like to let me do anymore for this very reason, and I found myself passing by a supply room. Well…I wasn't passing by so much as I was…"

"Inviting yourself in?" Jane offered.

"Maybe", she admitted. "Anyway, I found myself inside…"

"Did you find some weird records from this ward or something?" Jane asked after a moment of silence.

"No, not really. It was mostly toilet paper and stuff, no records…" her voice, clanging through the metal shafts and across the wall that divided them, trailed off there.

"Angie?"

"I heard something, something through the vents. It was…well, not much, actually. Really nothing; except that it came from above."

Jane waited for further explanation. When none came, she said "Is that all? We are underground, you know."

"I _know_, Jane", Angie said impatiently. "We are underground, we are the furthest under the ground you can get here. What I heard was a discussion of security in the Max ward; and it was coming _from_ the Max ward."

It took a moment, but not a long one.

"How do you know?" Jane asked finally.

"I just know! If you'd heard it, you'd know too! It was just so obvious…they were guards, not orderlies, and they were so, like, _at home_. It was the maximum security ward, Jane. And it was above us. Which means that we're not it."

"Then what the hell are we?"

"I don't know, but I don't think anyone knows about us. I mean, even _we _thought we were in maximum security."

"That is what he told us, isn't it?"

It occurred to Jane then that she hadn't met with any other doctors in all the time she'd been inside Arkham. She knew Dr. Crane ran the asylum; she would have thought that he'd be very busy, far too busy to take on exclusive patients like her. She wasn't crazy, or at least she hadn't been when she'd arrived; what made her more of a priority than patients who had an illness to cure?

"Jane?" Angie called. "Still there?"

"Yeah", she answered hollowly.

"Don't go sharing this with all your friends, okay? Don't want to get ourselves all lobotomized for nothing." She gave an uncomfortable laugh; Jane realized she wasn't joking.

"You know you're my only friend, Angie."

"Thanks, kid! I feel the same way."

It was true; she was alone here, except for Angie. With the growing shadows gathering every night on their level, Jane had found a sense of general uneasiness grow stronger each hour; she saw demons and madness everywhere. Angie was so different from this, so regular (aside from some obsessive issues); Jane felt her to be a reminder of outside, of normalcy, where teenaged girls talked about guys liking them, not doctors drugging, hypnotizing and using them. If this level wasn't the true maximum security ward, what was it? A testing laboratory….?

Approaching steps echoed through the hall; orderlies and the occasional nurse walked by Jane's room every day, but somehow these sounded different. As with important information, the steps that make their way to one's own door hum with a different tone.

"I have to go", Jane called hurriedly to Angie. She didn't get an answer; it was an unspoken agreement between the two. Do not communicate when conversation is suddenly cut short.

She scrambled to get off her chair, throwing herself on the bed in time to hear her heavy lock disengage. Looking up in a way she hoped was casual, she froze momentarily to see Crane there; a large, white-clad orderly stood at his side. Jane could have sworn she'd seen the burly man crack his knuckles.

"Good afternoon, Jane", the doctor greeted her. "Are you ready for a private session today?"

_Would it matter if I said no?_

"Sure. Just let me grab my purse."

Crane smiled at the joke; it didn't reach his eyes. Humor was different inside these walls.

"Excellent. Mr. Burlington will accompany you from here; I will meet the two of you in a few minutes. Until then", he nodded a farewell and left the two alone.

Jane stood uncertainly. What could she do to become more ready? Did he want her to brush her hair or something?

"This way, please", Burlington said, waiting for her to step into the hall.

"Where is he going?"

"The doctor has some preparations to make for your session today. It won't take long."

Now she felt it; the unease that preceded any appointment with Crane. He did like her to be ready for him. As she walked the hall, she became aware of all the tons of steel and concrete stacked on top of her secret level; the effect was suffocating. She suddenly felt strangled, not only by the oppressive building above and around her, but of the secrecy she now found herself in. Her closeness to Angie was a secret from Crane; their latest home was a secret from the real world.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Well, thanks so much! I'm glad Angie's been received so well, because I think she's already made herself at home. There's a whole new kettle of Crane fish where Angie's concerned, the specifics of which we may or may not explore. It's also true that, in a less thantraditional way, Crane is indeed a sexual predator; the difference lies in his own sexual interests. I always saw him as being more intellectually dominant, and that's where his lust lies as well. Everything is different to one both insane and brilliant. And hey, more dubious secrets semi-revealed here! I'll continue soon. Promise.

- nH


	13. Chapter 13

_Hey, I thought I'd write my little note before the action this time. It is true, what I said about Crane's interest lying above the norm, if you get my meaning; hearts and minds more than bodies. So, just keep repeating: he only wants to scare me, he only wants to scare me…_

_Thanks for reading! _

_- nH_

_------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Chapter 13

_The Storm Descends_

Mr. Burlington led the way down the evening halls, empty at this time of day. Darkness was descending on the property, she would assume, as the florescent lighting had dimmed into its muted representation of night. All was eerily still.

"Right here", the orderly said, stopping at another thick steel door. The small window showed little light inside the room as well; what illumination there was had a flickering blue tint, reminding her of the static channels on her own television set.

Jane held back at the door; she felt like she was about to enter the deep dark woods, where monsters lurked. Burlington reached past her and released the lock. "Go ahead", he said, oblivious to her discomfort.

Tentatively, Jane entered. She heard the door close behind her, the lock setting with a heavy click. Eyes forward, she saw a chair, set ominously in front of a projection screen. She turned to see the projector set on a table behind the door; out of these shadows stepped Crane, back straight as always, chin held high. He was a slight man with a huge, unsettling presence.

"Please, have a seat, Jane", he said just as he had so many times before. And as before, Jane had little choice but to obey.

"I have a different treatment I'd like to try today", he went on. "Very simple, no hypnosis. Although, I must insist on using a mild sedative and restraint." Before she could argue, Jane felt the needle tear the tiniest hole in her skin. Crane was a sneaky one; giving her no warning, he slid the cold liquid into her vein. Already she felt the paralysis set in.

"Is this…supposed…to calm me?" she managed while she still had energy enough to speak.

He stood behind her, out of her sight. Nevertheless, she could hear the dark, cold sweep of his voice.

"It's my own concoction", he said. "Formulated to solicit the greatest and most efficient response."

_Greatest and most efficient response? To what?_

Then:

_Own concoction!_

She'd be damned if this was a sedative; she did not feel sedate. Panic welled up inside, finding no outlet due to the numbness of her restrained limbs. Her breath became ragged, her pulse jumped from her heart to her overwrought brain. Dr. Crane observed this with a satisfied little sigh.

"We're off to a good start", he said, optimistically. As he moved in her blind areas, running the projector and focusing the centre light onto the great white screen in front of her, Jane wondered how things could have gone so completely wrong in her life. How had things gone so far downhill, so fast, that finding herself strapped to a chair with some mysterious drug running through her while her doctor excited himself at her panic had become a common occurrence? Where had she gone wrong?

Her heart did not steady its pace as the projector's fan started its hum. The first image presented itself to her; she was hypnotized, whether Crane admitted it or not. She could not take her gaze from the screen.

It was a girl, a photograph of a girl. A teenager, blond, smiling, jeans and fitted t-shirt. Obviously Jane's demographic, presented here in a kind of Clockwork Orange _Lodovico _treatment – first she walked the city street alone, followed soon by a dark stranger. Where was Beethoven playing in the background, where was the little assistant dripping Visine into her forced-open eyes? As the next picture replaced the last, and Jane found herself – or, the anonymous girl, if she was to keep her wits about her – actually being attacked by the now masked figure, she marveled at Crane's sudden lack of originality.

Then, of course, things changed. The color photos disappeared, and the empty white screen flickered at a growing pace. Jane's head hurt; this was an original idea, after all. She tried to awaken her voice, to ask him what he had planned, but she was still largely dead on the outside. Inside, though, she was a boiling storm.

"_Jane…"_

That monstrous voice reasserted itself, playing back like a recording of her last private session. Her heart seized and contracted, as the flickering white light reached a fever pitch, and the terror reached out from behind her to twist a hand in her hair.

_What does he want?_

Was he the monster? Crane? He was _a _monster, surely, but her memory always seemed to fail her at crucial moments like this – was he _the _monster? The one who attacked her, or was he just the latest monster in her waking life?


	14. Chapter 14

_Hello again all, thanks for returning. Right you are, Faith-Catherine, the last chapter was originally written as part one of two. Only fitting that I should update it again today, then. Same goes for today as yesterday; he's only trying to scare you._

_The world is full of unanswered questions and misery; sometimes you think it all funnels right down to your room, level after level underground, beneath the darkest corner of the Narrows. Arkham Below. Goodnight, Jane. _

_nH_

_------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Chapter 14

_The Storm Descends, Pt. 2_

Jane wondered, and tried to breathe, and lost her vision sporadically to bouts of dizzy nausea; in all this, inexplicably, she found her restraints released. Suddenly she was free; she jumped to her feet, instantly regretting it as her head filled with the pain of the drug and of losing a fistful of hair unexpectedly. Dimly she heard the man's steps approach her, and she spun around to meet him in a haze of gray blindness.

He was the monster, and the man; that crisp blue suit contrasted against the burlap sack, stitched at the down-turned mouth with dark twine. The hand that had momentarily lost touch with her long hair returned there to catch her in her sightless fugue. He drew her close, terribly close, and her vision returned.

He said nothing. She was not completely incoherent, not yet. "Doctor? Crane…?" she shuddered, shivering at his every touch.

The slender fingers of his free hand grazed her cheek, trailing down her neck to stop at her collarbone. They wrapped around her throat, almost gently.

"_You're trembling", _he answered. _" Is something wrong? Does something scare you?"_

That was one question she'd learned not to answer, not even to dare to think of. She shut her mouth, sealed her words and fears behind her pale lips. The monster shook her, snapped her head back to expose her neck.

"_Not telling, hmm? Perhaps I need to take it from you-"_

He dragged her weakly struggling form to the far corner of the room; in the darkness there, another table had been shoved out of the way. Here he forcibly threw her down, using the hand in her hair to slam her head into the stainless steel. Stars exploded across her sky; her eyes rolled back into her skull as she tried to hold on to consciousness.

"_Is it this?"_ he said as his hands moved over her body. She grew more brittle the further he explored. She spasmed, tried to throw herself out of unconsciousness; before either of them could make it far, a hollow steel call came down from above.

"Paging Dr. Crane", an unfamiliar voice beckoned. The man – or monster – stopped in his dubious plans; it only repeated. "Dr. Crane to Maximum Security."

Spearing his current patient with a nearly enraged glare, he made his way across the room. _"Stay"_, he ordered as he left her.

He stood near the door; Jane didn't move, didn't want to attract his attention. Her heart was just beginning to slow, somehow; listening, she heard the voice of a human doctor, not a demon, speak in hushed tones into – she assumed – a cell phone.

"What? Dawes…?...fine, then. Things will be moving ahead faster than planned, it seems. Stall her; I'll be up as soon as possible. I have…a loose end to tie up here first."

Jane found herself still immobile; the boom of footsteps neared and her pulse quickened. The doctor loomed over her, extending a hand toward her face. A fine dust shot from some kind of canister, invading her lungs before she had a chance to resist. She coughed, trying to expel it; it was to no avail.

"_Now, you belong to me", _he said, promising her a black stretch of night to last the rest of her life. Her muscles involuntarily tensed as creatures and horrors crept into her mind – a screaming tunnel of devils widening until they embraced her body, her room, her existence. She bit her tongue to keep back the cries that would only whet the man's appetite; hot blood dripped out between her teeth. This seemed to please him just as well.

"_Ah, you do love to bite, don't you?"_

To her surprise – in the part of her mind left untouched enough to feel surprise – he reached up to his face, removing his mask. If ever there was any doubt as to who the real lunatic was, it was settled by the ravenous look in his shining eyes. Jane labored to suppress the fear, the vulnerability. Jaw clenched, her own vital red fluid still oozing from her lips, she gasped as an expression of violent frustration passed over his fine features.

"Not scared yet? Not screaming?"

Crane, once again an approximation of humanity, lunged over her; he laid a hand on her cheek, like a loving partner. Stilling the turn of her head as she tried to escape him, he pushed himself impossibly close…his breath warmed her face as his lips touched hers, his tongue sweeping across her teeth to lick away the blood.

_Now you belong to me_

He stood, running his tongue over his own lips, made red from her injury. He passed a hand through his hair, composed his suit once again. Now a professional, he stepped to the door and retrieved his glasses from his pocket, slipping them on. He said nothing as he exited the room.

When the men in white came to get her, they found a familiar mess waiting for them. Jane fought to hold on to sanity, and kept a spark hidden deep inside; for the time being, she was just another crow, shell-shocked by the unnamed beast that walked the halls of Arkham in the guise of a doctor.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_So, I didn't want to give away too much before you read, but now that you have, I suppose some more vague answers are in order. Firstly, I assure you, although I have no real way to prove it concretely, that Crane's actions here are not driven by anything below his waist. Look at it this way; Jane is a challenge for him, she has resisted his charms like no other. To mace her with his powder before tinkering with her untouched brain would be more than a waste, it would be a kind of surrender to her strength. But the more she defies his logic, the more infuriated he becomes - and, the further he goes before plunging them both over the edge. I hope you like it! I'm sure I want it to go this way, but I'm also worried that this will look like a kind of erotica tribute to the Scarecrow; really, it's not. I just want it to be absolutely clear. So if I've overexplained, I apologize. Thanks for reading! _

_- nH_

_Oh yes, and to Mr. Delapore: it's his own concoction! Heh...he has many tricks up his sleeve. After all, he does have a degree in psychopharmacology. ; )_


	15. Chapter 15

_Hey, thanks for coming back! I'm glad to see I've drawn a few new readers along the way, and have managed to keep my old favourites with me too. This one's a little short, a stepping stone to the edge. Here's what it's like to be sick with fear. _

_- nH_

_------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Chapter 15

_Scare Crow_

_scare crow_

_scare crow_

The day, the world, reduced to two syllables. _Scarecrow._ Her external tormentor.

Jane huddled on the floor in the corner of her room; the walls shivered right along with her. The friendly orderlies had fitted her with a straightjacket, to protect her from her own sporadic thrashings; the rational part of her mind – that rapidly shrinking part growing further away from daylight by the second – had realized long ago that this was, inevitably, where she would end up.

The room had become a hell of itching, moving walls, bleeding color and cross-fading screams from somewhere inside her beleaguered head. At times she felt as if she was inside the celluloid of a horror movie, a non-living figment of a sinister imagination, waiting for some unearthly monster or ghost to posses her and devour her soul. At other times, the hallucinations receded, leaving her to wonder if she was in the throes of a full-blown psychosis. These times were almost worse; it was during these quiet breaks that she had to admit that she most likely was.

"Jane?"

A watery call from above; at first it confused her, as at that moment she wasn't entirely sure where she was. Another attack of dementia was on its way out; she waited to see if this voice was a siren dragging her back inside.

"Honey, are you there?" it called again; this time it served to help clear her head. This voice was blessedly real.

"H-hey", Jane called out weakly. She struggled against the wall to her feet; if she could beat the next attack, she may be able to let this person – Angie, that's her name – know what had happened. As best she understood it herself.

"Hey!" she shouted. Discretion was no longer an issue, for some reason. Perhaps because she felt she had little to lose. "Angie!"

"Hey, girl! You're being awfully daring, if I may say", she answered, sounding a bit startled.

"He did something to me", she started. "He got into my mind – he's a monster…I can't…I can't tell what's real…"

"Jane", Angie called, sounding concerned. "Jane, hush a bit, someone might hear us, okay?"

"It doesn't matter!" Jane almost cackled. "It's over, he's won!"

A momentary hush; Angel appeared to consider this. "No, no honey! No, he can't win! What did he do?"

"He gets in, you breathe him in, and it's all over. You can't get him out. He's not a man, he's…all…straw and monster…"

The madness was creeping back in, she could feel it. She had in fact heard it first, in the brittle edge to her voice, as if it was coming from somewhere else. The walls were beginning to quake…

"Angie, I have to go."

"What? Where are you going?"

_Nowhere _was the proper reply, and would probably do quite nicely for the rest of her life. This time, Jane was beyond the point of no return; the only answer she gave Angel was a long, crackling laugh, a last bitter look at reality as it faded away once again.


	16. Chapter 16

_No, not the end. More to come, I promise. Jane's become a little foggy, of course, so her…grasp of reality is not to be so easily trusted, but I like to think that we're all similarly sane way way underneath. Hope you like where this is headed._

_-nH_

_------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Chapter 16

_Rain On the Wind_

Time passed at an unsettlingly slow pace. Shivering on the floor, constantly twisting to escape the pinching confinement of the straightjacket, Jane felt years pass. The cobwebs gathered in her blond hair, dust settled on her sallow skin; the more she moved, the less she felt Death's approach. She tried to hang on to the present; deny the past, forestall the future. It most likely held more suffering. Life was but a dream, a memory, a possible lie.

In the aching of her muscles she felt certain that hours, at least, had gone by. It must be night by now; the same night, though? How many days had she been in this hell? Rationality came and went; when it was there, she tried to imagine what the real world looked like, so she could eventually figure out a way to get back there. In her sparse moments of clarity, even she marveled at her reluctance to give up the hope of eventual freedom. She couldn't accept defeat; while she had sanity, she had something to defend, and this hope was the only weapon she had left.

_Humans can adapt to anything, Jane. _

How true; in fact, she would hazard to say that she was getting just a bit better at handling this insanity thing. If Arkham was her home now, then madness was her new bedfellow. This realization stunned her out of her unconscious ramblings – she hadn't noticed that she'd been mumbling words like the ever-repetitive _scarecrow_, and new favorites like _stitch _and _bugs._ The dawn of courage stopped this, though; in adaptation she was silenced.

If she grew brave, she could move around the tremors, translate the moving walls and lurching sky into a new version of a familiar reality. The world may be nothing more than perception, she thought feverishly, and if that was so, than lucid dreaming was her shelter, and her escape.

Once again, Jane hauled herself awkwardly to her feet. The walls continued to shudder; but that was okay, once one got used to it, wasn't it? These were the new walls, the turning ground under her feet was the new floor, the shimmering air was the new oxygen. It was a new world, and she could learn to live in it, for as long as it took to get out.

_Angel _

Angie! She had to tell Angie that she would be okay…if she could find their conduit in the haze, of course. Her room now looked a lot like a foggy moor, with transparent walls and other illusionary trappings. No, no, the room was reality; the sense of the outdoors was the illusion, she hastily corrected herself. She focused, and brought the walls back to solidity. Better; there, near the ceiling, was the vent.

"Angie?" she called. She was met by the ominous rumble of thunder; real, or imaginary? Had she ever heard the weather down there before?

She tried again. "Angel!"

After a moment, during which Jane considered the possibility that all of this was a dream and she was still huddled and twitching on the floor, Angel replied.

"Jane! What the hell is going on?"

"I'm…I lost control for a while, but I'm better now", Jane offered. "I'm a little… mixed up? But, I can work around it. I'm not sure exactly what to do, but I think if we don't get out of here, like now, there won't be another chance for me, get it? I'm almost dead. I'm almost…totally dead."

Silence. Perhaps she had frightened the poor girl. If that was the case, the news only got worse for her.

"Angie?"

"I'm here", she answered. "What happened to you? Something's going off tonight, something huge. Crane disappeared for a while right after you got back, I heard them drop you in your room. You sounded…well, nevermind that now. But Crane, when he was gone upstairs I heard them talking about some place called Corridor F and how some kind of…like, bat-guy is trying to break into the asylum?" She gave a nervous titter. "If I didn't know any better, I might think I was surrounded by crazy people. Anyway…Crane is back…ah, you don't know what I had to do to get all this, girl.."

This rapid confession was a bit much for Jane to take at the moment, but she tried her best to assimilate the news. "Did you break out of your room?" she asked, grasping at the most familiar assumptions associated with Angie.

Angie laughed; it was a heavenly sound. "Uh, yes. Maybe you know me after all. I've been working on the hinges for months now, y'know, because patience is a virtue and all. So I finally pushed and got the damn thing unstuck, and then I find that the lock on my freaking door is like one-tenth as complicated as removing it from the hinge-side would have been. Basically, I found that my electro-lock is easily shorted with my CD player and other little odds and ends I have lying around, or stuffed into the mattress…luckily, we're not in Maximum security. So I got out, and no one was around, and I went back to the place where I'd heard about the real Max ward before. Crane was up there, some guards were saying, he got cornered by some freak in a rubber suit in this Corridor F and he had to be put into a Max room! But, then they moved him down here…somewhere. They said the police wanted to talk to him, and he'd given some kind of orders to be taken into our secret hideout level if anything should happen to his decision-making abilities, whatever that means. So…"

"Cops?" Jane spat suddenly. She couldn't help the voracity of her response. "Cops, here? Talking to Crane?" After the shortest second, she added, "Bat-guy?"

"Yeah…" Angie said, startled. "Cops, here. Well, they were upstairs, at least. What have they done for us lately, anyhow? So they talked to Crane already, but I guess he didn't tell them anything about us…then he came back down here, somewhere. There's something wrong with him, Jane. I mean, something more wrong than before; I know, I'm in love with him, but I can admit…Oh, and this Bat guy, the _Bat-man_…" she said in a tone that openly admitted to sounding ridiculous. "He did something to Jonnie. The guards who brought him down said something about Crane's own medicine. And now they say that this room in Corridor F, wherever that is, is still crawling with police. I don't know what the hell all this means, Jane, and now there's something happening to you too…the end is nigh, I think, isn't it?"

Jane's eyes had been opened unnaturally wide for most of Angie's testimony, taking in all the light they could, freezing time for as long as it took to accept this. What was going on, indeed. Angie spoke of this Bat-man with the tone reserved for religious fanatics and other dubious heroes. Bat-man? Was he like some radio personality here to do an exposé or something? Did he end up attacking the doctor physically thus earning him cult-figure status? And cops…finally, were they here to help the victims of Arkham, or were they only the nails in their coffins?

"Jane?"

"Yes…"

"Hon, I think something's happening right now. I hear something from down my section here…oh, my God. Get ready, girl. If I can, I'll come for you…"

Jane wanted to protest, but what would she be protesting? Already she heard the commotion herself; a sudden shuffling of feet somewhere at the end of her hall, the muffled shouting of men's voices…the cascading _clack_ of the doors of her wing unlocking. The walls still shuddered, and the stiff arms of the straightjacket still embraced her harshly. But Angie would come for her, soon, if she could. Jane fervently hoped so; despite her new courage, this new world may prove too wild and wide to survive on her own. Especially if the wild and weird Crane still walked the underground with her, in a room recently unlocked, and his most basic sanity apparently in question.

_Crane's own medicine_

She steeled herself. All that had come before was merely a rain-shower; the true storm lay directly ahead. Inside, she was changed, she felt it. She didn't know what she would do when the time came, but it would be an attack from deep inside her, a place she would not have been forced into were it not for Crane. And if his medicine did this to a normal teenaged girl, what would it do to its own mad creator?

Thunder rolled darkly again; he was coming, that Scarecrow, coming for her. Like smelling rain on the cold wind, she could feel it.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_So, any questions? I know madness can be a little ambiguous…and I'd like to know if I've left anything out. Thanks for reading - nH_


	17. Chapter 17

_Happy Hallowe'en! Belated Hallowe'en, I mean. This is a bit short, but sweet. If you find this sort of thing sweet, that is. _

_-_ _nH_

_------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Chapter 17

_The Sounds of Disaster_

In the seconds that passed between her door unlocking and someone stepping inside, Jane nearly forgot that there was something fairly large going on. Such was the extent of her brain damage, she sadly assumed. The heavy steel creaked open, and a small dark shape poked in. Jane stood aghast for a moment, unable to relate the foggy image to reality.

"Jane?" Angie said, tentatively.

There; it made a little more sense now. Angie had said she'd come for her, and here she was. The doorway around her still twitched and jumped, but happily, Angie's face remained clear.

"H-hey", Jane answered. She didn't move from her spot, despite her relief to see the girl. Angie entered the room cautiously, realizing now the extremity of the trauma Jane had suffered.

"Hi, there", she said soothingly. "Let's get you out of that thing." She gestured to the straightjacket.

Jane nodded her assent, hesitantly turning to allow Angie access to the straps at the back. She waited with a sort of patience while Angie fiddled around behind her; after a few minutes of tugging and unraveling, Jane felt her bonds loosen. Her rough canvas shell fell away, leaving the blood to flow back into her arms and fingers. Angie carefully placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Hon, I think we should get out of here while we can. I don't know if we can get upstairs at all, but I don't think the bottom of the building is the safest place to be right now."

Jane pondered for a moment. "We can leave", she said, a tad breathless. Breathing had become more difficult of late, since she'd been dosed by Crane's white powder. She always felt like she was hyperventilating, the fight-or-flight response to such constant fear. "We can just leave here."

"Leave…the building?" Angie asked. She clearly hadn't thought of this. Jane watched her, wondering what the big question regarding escape could be. Wasn't this what they'd both wished for since they'd arrived? Perhaps Angie's infatuation with Crane was leading her astray. "I don't know if that's such a good idea…"

"Why not?" Jane fairly spat.

"Okay, relax. I just meant that it might not be safe outside, either. We're in the Narrows, you know. Bad things happen here all the time, and if things are as haywire as they seem, it's like the end of the world out there or something…"

Jane shook her head adamantly. "No, it's the end of the world _in here_. Outside is home, outside bad things happen, believe me I know but it's home and I don't belong here-"

"I know!" Angie assured her. "I know, you don't belong here, I don't belong here. Most the people around don't belong here. But if there's like a riot going on in this whole neighbourhood, it might be best to just lie low in a Max room or something, barricade ourselves in…"

Jane nodded slowly, not completely agreeing.

"Okay…maybe."

Angie nodded too, seeming a bit relieved. "Okay", she said. "We'll go and check it out together. Watch each other's backs, right?"

"Right…" it was a dubious answer at best. Some part of Jane did realize that it was likely that Angie would be doing most of the watching. Regardless, Angie seemed as pleased as one could get in such a situation.

"Alright, then. Let's go."

Together, the young girls ventured out past the thick door; there lay chaos. Well, quiet chaos. Many of the inmates on this lowest of the low level were docile, the zombie-esque creatures that shared group therapy with the girls. These milled about softly, wandering, touching the walls as if they may not be real. As well as these, there were a number of other patients now released from their cages. These were sharper in their movements, watchful and paranoid. Jane recognized their terrified reactions as her own, before her careful self control. Still, despite her new tightly restrained behavior, she did feel the difference. She was brittle, like thinly spun glass. She could easily become one of these frightened defensive children again; the fear lay just under the surface.

Fuel for their fear lay above them. At first Jane didn't hear it; Angie, having grown used to listening upward over her last many months here, suddenly ground to a halt. The arm around Jane's waist tightened, bringing them to a stop.

"Hear that?" she asked tensely.

Jane waited; she had heard things since that last fateful session, mainly vague sporadic voices she could luckily tell were in her head. In her new world, she'd tried to listen past these, with moderate success. They were like a particularly catchy song stuck on repeat. Pushing past them now, she listened, following Angie's gaze to the ceiling, where many of the others had fastened their attention. Soon, it became clear; overhead, the sounds of disaster.


	18. Chapter 18

_A companion to last night's short chapter. Be warned; the end is nigh, at least for this passage in the lives of Arkham's young lost…_

_-nH_

_------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Chapter 18

_Exit, or End_

Now Jane could hear the Max ward. Shouts, crashes, stampeding feet. Even the crack of gunfire, she realized with a jump. It was catastrophe up there; surely Angie wouldn't want to enter into that?

"Maybe no good?" Jane offered.

"Yeah", Angie said, dismayed. "Maybe not."

Looking around them, Jane saw that most of the others there were not moving. More accurately, they were not going anywhere. The calm ones were complacent in their relative safety, and the scared ones were too terrified to attempt escape. There was a lot of meandering accompanied by cowering, but no progress. Jane breathed an inner sigh of relief that she'd managed to dodge both those fates, however temporarily she was able to keep this denial up.

"Should we go back in?" she asked, looking back to her room. The familiarity offered some comfort, even if only in minor amounts.

"I guess…" Angie trailed off. Snapping back to herself, she said "Wait – what about the maintenance section? I remember passing by it on a few of my walks earlier this year…"

"Earlier this year?"

"Yes, well. It's not likely that they will have moved an entire boiler-room-janitor-closet or whatever for no reason, so I expect it'll still be there. We can hide out until help comes, or until things die down enough upstairs for us to try to get out."

"Ah…where is it?"

Angie squeezed her eyes shut, seeming to will the memory to surface. For a moment, it looked as though there would be no luck for them at all today. Then, a jolt; Angie's eyes opened, and there was blessed resolve in her voice.

"This way", she said, guiding Jane past the soft statues clogging the hallway. "Past my room, down another hall, around a few corners. I remember because I followed Jonnie here one day, until I realized he was just going to get someone to mop a spill or whatever, and I gave up."

Silently, Jane let Angie lead her. The sounds of human thunder continued to growl above them, and Jane tried to suppress the urge to duck the coming storm. The people she passed who hugged the walls, eyes darting around to catch a million different attackers, were too close to what she truly was for comfort. She averted her gaze, shuffling alongside Angie; it felt like miles, but the time spent was more likely measured in minutes. Finally, Angie slowed their walk.

"Holy…" she breathed, now motionless. After a moment of silence, Jane looked up to follow Angie's shocked stare.

Her vision still jumped and swam, but for a second the sign stenciled on the pale metal door remained clear as crystal. Jane read it in the blink of an eye; it took a few heartbeats for what appeared there to register. When it did, she sucked in a breath, sharing Angie's sentiment. Surprise would be putting this lightly.

"Corridor F", she read aloud, unnecessarily. "This is the maintenance wing? I thought it was upstairs somewhere…"

"No, I said I didn't know where it was…" Angie corrected absently. "I had no idea…I don't think I saw the door up close when I was here before." She shook her head. "Corridor F. This is where my…Crane went crazy…"

"Crazier", Jane said softly.

"We can't go in there."

Jane turned to her. "Why not?"

A pause. "I don't know", she admitted. "I guess I'm just not too eager to run into whatever drove Crane over the edge."

Another moment spent staring at the door. Finally, Jane twitched violently, just once, freeing herself from Angie's arm. She cautiously approached the door, which shifted its bearings sinisterly. It reminded her of a huge mouth, wide and toothless, gaping above a live meal. Nevertheless, she pressed forward, gingerly stretching her neck to peer into the small caged window.

"The lights flicker", she reported. "There are tables folded up and boxes everywhere, but it's a hallway, just a hallway."

"But a maintenance wing?" Angie argued.

"The hallway to a maintenance wing?" Jane countered. The rooms beyond called to her voicelessly. She was drawn, irresistibly drawn in. Her decision became more obvious by the second.

"I think we should go back to your room", Angie urged.

"Okay", Jane relented.

She allowed Angie to lead her back, noting every turn and vandal's marking along the way. She soon trailed behind; Angie turned often to check on her, uncomfortable without her by her side. As the patients again populated the hallway, Angie's vigilance over Jane became necessarily weaker; finally, disappointed but not terribly surprised, she looked back and found Jane gone. Cursing under her breath, she started back after her. The vacant patients stood still as trees, a forest of lost minds. Angel wove her way through them, knowing where she was headed and resolved to see her young friend safe and sound again.

After Jane slipped out of Angie's reach, she made her way with remarkable ease back to the nightmarishly compelling door. _Corridor F_. The place where Crane was cornered by the Batman, where the last of his sanity had allegedly abandoned him. Some dark, bitter part of Jane hoped he felt just as lost as she had, before she'd assimilated his drug and accepted her new compromised mind.

_Are you in there?_

She reached out, fingertips brushing the cold steel. She heard no answer from the other side, although the places her fingers touched did shimmer and ripple alluringly. Her gateway lay past this door, she felt it. Her escape, or her end. She moved forward, pushed the disabled lock open before her mind could change itself again. The long dark hallway stretched out before her, and she stepped inside.

The door swung shut with a click behind her. This was it; she was no longer a part of that world, the world out there. The dread she'd forced herself to grow used to increased to sickening heights. Swallowing, she moved past empty rooms and locked doors. She heard no movements inside, and saw no way to release these manual locks. No matter; what she was looking for was not so near to the waking world. She would have to descend further, dig deeper for her exit.

When the door she'd come through became a speck at the end of a dark tunnel, the air grew noticeably cooler. Or maybe that was just her new convincing imagination. Either way, she felt ill. Looking back, Jane realized she couldn't make out her old life at all anymore. She was a nightmare creature in a nightmare world. She turned back to face her dark path, and was jolted out of her reverie.

"Jane", the Scarecrow rasped. "How lovely to see you again…"

Jane's heart began the mad dance to escape her body. This was it; her escape, or her end.


	19. Chapter 19

_Thanks, all, for sticking it out so far. It's really great to have readers like you. To Nothing and Nowhere: thanks so much for the tip! I've often wondered about that; you're right, it looks much cleaner this way. And to CGFlower: this is kind of an AV storyline, but in keeping with the basic plot, at this point I believe it has been only a few hours since Batman attacked Crane. See, it's after Gordon talks to him, and after Ra's Al-Ghul's SWAT team guys release him, but before he actually makes it outside. Same night, though. Thanks for asking; the next (and last) couple of chapters have a kind of ambiguous feel to them, so don't hesitate if any of you need clarification. _

_-nH_

_------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Chapter 19

_Straw and Disease_

_Jane…how lovely to see you again_

Scare crow

The name thudded in her brain before she could consciously make the connection. Seconds later, the world caught up to her, as much as it could in this cold pocket of concrete and metal.

"Dr. Crane?" she said.

"Crane?" he echoed, stepping closer. Indeed, it was hard to tell; hours had passed since she'd last seen him, or so her senses told her now that the painful hallucinations had diminished. He wore a rough canvas jacket that put hers to shame; double the length, twice as sturdy. Of course, his had been undone, although not removed. It was split up the middle, and Jane saw that the figure did wear a suit, similar to Crane's, underneath.

"Am I Crane? The doctor Crane?" This man did wear the mask, that burlap sack with the shockingly simple and effective features. His approach was slow, but steady; Jane hadn't noticed his growing proximity. Now here he was, in breathing distance, and under the apparent insanity Jane could almost smell and taste and feel the things that made him human.

Or was it just that they were the same, now? It was a distinct possibility that being human was a thing of Jane's past. This had been such a short time without normalcy, really, but it was long enough that the feeling had become foreign. Hovering in front of her was a mere approximation of man, but someone very close to Jane's world.

"No," she said, so softly he may not have heard. He wasn't the man, the doctor Crane. He wasn't a part of all that anymore. "Not the doctor, not you. You….you're not human."

He laughed, a short lingering rasp. "Who am I then? Or what?"

"You're…a demon. No….no, nothing like that, nothing real. You're a dream, a doll, stuffed with straw and disease. You're a Scarecrow."

There was an instant of stillness, absolute silence. Jane felt the clock tick toward the end of what was, toward the beginning of his new life and her possible death. Then the silence broke, and the dust motes filtering through the air shuddered at the sound of his new frightening voice.

"Yes…." a laugh, a growing certainty. "Yes, of course….Scarecrow."

She nodded, afraid but enthralled, unwilling to break the gaze between them. The Scarecrow before her laughed and laughed, and took a final step into her space, drawing her into his arms in a nightmare embrace.


	20. Chapter 20

_Okay, folks; this is it. I don't want to give anything away, but I should warn you all that this is the end of Lucid Dreamer. It was a joy to write, and even better to know that people enjoyed reading it. I'll get back to you once you're done; until then, prepare thyself, for the end is nigh. _

_- nH_

_------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Chapter 20

_Oh Black, Unending River_

It was darkness there. In the arms of a Scarecrow – he must have known what he was? Surely hearing the name held no surprise for him?

Jane gasped, and stiffened; her eyes suddenly snapped shut, to avoid seeing that monstrous, infested face so close. She held her breath; she was, inarguably, terrified. The next move was his.

"Ah, Jane," he murmured, as one might on a particularly successful date. It was a little late in the game for seduction, Jane thought. Once one is in a straightjacket with a burlap sack over one's head, the usual attraction has likely diminished. Though, she couldn't deny a certain thrill as he tightened his hold, working his fingers gently through her hair. _Oh, sure,_ she thought, _now you act normal. Now that we're both nuts. _

His eyes, she saw as her own cracked open just slightly, were still blue. She could see them beyond the rough holes in the mask. If she concentrated hard enough, she could even make the maggots recede a little.

"Take the mask off," she tried, in an attempt to reach past the Scarecrow to the man he may – once, long before she'd ever met him – have been. It was a long shot, one that depended on there still being a human under the hastily stitched together chaos. If there ever had been, and if there was any trace of him there now, Jane hoped he'd be willing to show himself.

A dark chuckle emanated from behind the false front; things weren't looking good. "Why, darling?" he asked, bringing her that much closer with the hand in her hair. "Do you not like my face? Do I scare you?"

"No," she squeezed past her fear. "No, you…bore me. I can't see your eyes, the…storm in your eyes."

"I...bore you?" he repeated in disbelief. Even she had to admit it was a cheap shot in the dark, with no basis in reality. And the storm in his eyes? He would see through that in a second.

To confirm this, the hand not occupied with her hair tightened around her waist, holding her body against his. Despite herself, she melted into him, unable to keep up any respectable distance between doctor and patient.

"What about this?" he whispered. Her heart sped, galloped at the implications. He really was trying to scare her. "Don't you like me like this?"

_I think he fancies me, Mom._

The world was falling apart again, the walls crumbling, the park from her youth growing up in swing sets and darkness to replace them. The man before her was the one who'd attacked her then; he'd always been with her, for years and decades and lifetimes before the incident that had brought her here. He was the archetypal villain, her demon, her shadow. This Scarecrow had only been waiting for the moment to arrive for him to take his place inside her head, to worm his way into her life so he could conquer and devour everything he found there. Now, she was almost gone for good.

"No," she said again. Last chance. She reached up, caught her fingers in the burlap over his head, and gently pulled it off. "So I can see you, see the real Scarecrow."

Silence then, as time froze along with the doctor. The mask was gone, and underneath she saw something far more horrifying; human madness. The person had survived, inexorably altered, and that may have been worse than the actual death of Crane. The idea that humanity can remain in a bare shred to suffer along with the external victims of an insane man…that chilled Jane more completely than any of Crane's own cold ministrations ever had. It was sympathy, mixed with terror, boiled to an intolerable, churning mass.

"There you are," she said, shuddering inwardly. His eyes were ice, as always, but the Scarecrow behind them made his previous insanity seem empty in comparison. "You don't need this." She held up the mask at her side.

He hesitated; gaze locked on the burlap sack, he spoke in his unaltered voice. "I don't need it," he agreed. "I decide on it, I want it, it's mine." He lunged toward it, Jane still held tightly in one arm.

She took this opportunity with hardly a thought. As he pushed forward, turning her body slightly in the process, Jane twisted her steps into his; the result threw the doctor so far off-balance that both collapsed to the floor. He grunted in surprise as he landed on top of her. Quickly regaining himself, the Scarecrow pinned her arms at her sides, at first concerned at his loss of control, then laughing in relief.

"Jane," he sighed finally. He lowered himself onto her, locking her to the floor with a weight surprising for his stature. "You always were my favorite patient."

Closer, closer, and he made contact. _He is only doing this to frighten me. _Jane squirmed frantically, unable to escape his kiss. It was ruthless, without warmth or modesty; Jane was overcome.

_Go on, girl. Do it again_

No need to coax her this time; all, or nothing. Jane sucked him in, and closed her teeth around his lower lip with a cruelty to match his own.

_This is kissing, this is love_

A warm, coppery silk coated her mouth and chin; Scarecrow's howls cut the air, piercing through the dream, bringing Jane back to life. She bucked, throwing him off of her. He scrambled to his feet, snatching the burlap mask from the ground and staggering away from her as she rose.

One hand clamped over his bloody mouth, the other tightly clutching his only barrier between himself and the real world, the unmasked Scarecrow finally gained a semblance of self-control. He straightened, regulating his breath, poking his tongue out to gauge the injury. He said nothing to Jane, but his eyes never left her. He was wary now, she noted with pleasure; he knew what she was good for, finally.

"You're not the same," he whispered eventually. She shook her head in denial, but he pressed on. "No, you're changed, now. Ichanged you."

"No," she whispered fiercely; she was the same girl, her mother's loving daughter, the normal teenager. "No, not true…"

"Yes," he nodded, backing away. When his hand dropped from his face, Jane saw the damage done; blood still oozed darkly, but it didn't gush as she had imagined. "I changed you."

The shadows reached out from behind him, swallowing him whole. The perfect end to the perfect night terror; before her, the only sound was the receding laughter of a madman. Behind her, the sturdy click of a door was almost real enough to draw her back. Softly, footsteps padded, cautious in their approach. Jane turned.

"Jane?" Angie called faintly. She was still out of sight, somewhere beyond the curve of the hallway, between reality and here.

Glancing back in the direction of the Scarecrow's escape, Jane gasped to see the shadows now reaching out to her; she jumped back, unsuccessfully. The darkness found her, embraced her, surrounded her, and soon she was blind.

"…Jane?…Jane …"

From here, the hazy light was easy to ignore. Somewhere far away, in the same place that the comforting young woman's voice existed, came the disturbing sound of hoarse laughter. She tried so feverishly to reach it; her life stretched before her, a long dark hallway with a light and an Angel at the end. But the dark was a blanket, covering her and smothering her, and suffocating her return.

_This is my nightmare, my world_

She struggled, and felt nothing. Disconcerting…but she knew she'd never stop trying to wake up again, to reach that girl, and the sunlight, and her loving stable home; until then, the sounds of her new world would be the silence of panic, and the clamoring of rage.

For now she could contain the Fear, the panic, shape the nightmare into something she could bear; a foreign concept once. What had happened to that Jane?

_The dream becomes me_

Perhaps the Scarecrow had changed her, after all.

The End

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Thankyou all for sticking around until the end! I'm so thrilled to have gained so many new readers, and to have kept all the faithful ones too. Your reviews and comments have been invaluable, and I'm happy to say that you're all talented writers in your own right. In answer to a couple of questions, I am considering a sequel or companion from Angie's point of view. I haven't given up on Jane, although I admit it does look hopeless. The thing about Angie, though, is that she is tenaciously loyal to anyone she cares about. So keep that in mind; I'd reckon we haven't heard the last of either of them. _

_About the sexual tension, it was totally intentional. I do consider Crane's interest in some of his patients, chiefly Jane, to be sexual in nature; it's just not purely physical. Remember, with the way he grew up, there is little value placed on the body's power over the mind; it is quite the opposite. If Crane wants to enter someone, and he has to force his way inside, he will relish taking the path of dreams and nightmares; the mind is his prize. First she will succumb to her fears, then she will succumb to him. _

_So a sequel; I have to warn you, if it's from Angie's p.o.v., it will look quite different than it did from Jane's. She has a reason for believing in him for so long after his experiments began; it will be the story of why their relationship is different, but there'll be no making out, I promise. He never terrified her the way he terrified Jane. It may also be a while before I post it; I want to be sure I get all the details right. _

_Thanks again for reading along! I've loved getting to know all of you, and those of you I haven't read up on completely, it's only a matter of time. I'll be back sometime with more…stuff. See you in the reviews. _

_Sincerely, _

_Not Human_


End file.
